A la recherche du temps perdu

Has it been too long since my last melancholy blog post? Yes?

Turning 30 is mostly a pleasant experience, especially since 30 doesn't seem especially old to a 29 year old. But, there is something jarring to the fact that I've been around for just short of 30 years and really don't remember very much of it. For instance, what did I do on my 14th birthday? Anything? Is there any way to know? I'm sure I went out to eat with my dad (a family tradition), but I certainly can't remember where we went, much less what we talked about.

Then, I think about all those people who must've been at my 7th birthday party. Who were they? And, what happened to them? It's amazing that I've met so many hundreds, even thousands, of people who I've enjoyed, people who have touched my life in some not-insignificant way, and I have no idea who they are.

Of the people I do remember, I'm shocked that so many of them have disappeared. Brett? Blair? Of course, in the age of Facebook, I suppose I could try to look these folks up, but I don't have a Facebook account (and I'm a student, so it's even more likely that I would have one than them). Even then, there must be several hundred people named "John Owens" out there, so I'm sure I'd never find the right guy.

And it's not just people from long ago! Friends from college have fallen off the face of the earth, which can only mean that people say the same thing about me: "Where did Richard go?"

Hopefully someone will find these people and tell them about my birthday party. Perhaps that dog from the end of Pynchon's Mason and Dixon is on his way to my house right now, sending me word from someone, so that I won't have to wonder anymore...